Dravix Jorynn, a 26-year-old man who always seemed to have bad luck, was walking slowly through the messy, dark street, heading home after a long day. Trash was lying around on the sidewalks, and the streetlights blinked weakly, barely lighting up the broken road under his feet. The air smelled a bit like something old and dirty, left behind by a recent rain that made puddles and dirt everywhere.
His face showed how tired he was, like someone who had done too much for too long. Dravix had been working too hard for many weeks, stuck in a nonstop cycle of things he had to do, with no time to rest or relax. The tired feeling was deep inside him, and his eyes looked empty and had dark rings under them, almost like he had been hit in a dream he didn't remember.
His skin felt tight, dry, and dirty because he hadn't had the energy to clean himself. His life felt like the same hard thing over and over, and it was slowly breaking him down, without anyone noticing, not even himself.
He sighed and muttered, "Another perfect night in paradise…"
Then, out of nowhere, a black cat ran out from the shadows really fast, almost like magic. In the dark, it looked like a blurry shape, and before Dravix could understand what was happening, he felt a strong wave of fear and shock, like a zap of electricity.
"What the?!" he cried out, stumbling back.
He stepped back without thinking and slipped on the wet ground. He fell down hard, landing on his back in a shallow puddle of dirty water that had gathered on the bumpy street. The fall hurt and made him feel a cold, gross jolt up his back.
His clothes got soaked right away, stuck to his body, and started to smell like rotting trash, old rainwater, and oil.
"Dammit!" he yelled, gritting his teeth. "Of course. Of course this would happen!"
Before he could do anything, the cat was gone. It ran into the dark just as fast as it had shown up, like it was never really there. Dravix was still lying in a dirty puddle and looked around, shocked.
The way the cat left so fast made him feel uneasy, it had just shown up and then was gone again. Now he was by himself, wet and embarrassed, lying in the gross street under a sky that didn't help at all, only staying cold.
He made a low sound and slowly sat up, already feeling cold deep in his body.
"Shit! I'm so wet and I smell so bad!" he said in a low, angry voice. No one was there to hear him, but he still said it out loud.
"Great. Just great. I can't wait to walk all the way home like a sewer rat," he groaned, trying to wipe his hands on his pants, which were just as soaked.
He felt really gross, his shirt stuck to his skin like dirty glue, and the bad, sickening smell of the water stuck to him like bad luck.
A memory came to him while he was trying to squeeze the water out of his shirt, but it wasn't working well. He remembered his grandma's voice. She always spoke in a serious and strong way.
She used to say that seeing black cats at night was a sign of bad luck and that people should stay away from them. He used to think that was just a silly old story. But now, standing in the rain and feeling sad, those words seemed more real.
"My grandma said stay away from black cats at night because they bring bad luck," he said to himself, shaking his head slowly. "But I couldn't stay away."
He let out a bitter laugh. "Didn't even get the choice, did I?"
There was no one he could blame. Still, the way things kept going wrong made him feel like something he couldn't see was trying to hurt him on purpose.
"Is someone up there laughing right now?" he said, looking up at the cloudy, unhelpful sky. "Because if you are, nice job. Really funny."
He made himself get up, even though it hurt when the cold clothes stuck to him. His shirt was wet, heavy, and smelled really bad. Every time he took a step, his shoes made a squishy sound from the water.
He didn't even try to see what he looked like, he already felt embarrassed, even though no one was there. But he had no choice except to keep going. His teeth were shaking from the cold, and the bad smell made him feel sick.
"Home. Just get home. Then maybe tomorrow won't be another disaster," he said, more to keep himself going than anything else.
Slowly, he walked home again, knowing this night, like many others, would leave more than just dirty clothes behind.
...
Dravix came back to the place he called home: a small, old apartment squeezed between run-down buildings in the older part of the city. The front door was a noisy, worn-out piece of wood that creaked loudly when he opened it.
"Still the same damn door," he muttered as it groaned open.
The air inside smelled bad, like old food and things rotting. The smell hit his nose hard and made it hard to breathe, like a kind of punishment.
"Ugh... God," he gagged, waving his hand in front of his face. "How does it get worse every day?"
His home was messy because he hadn't cleaned in a long time. He was too tired from work, had too much to do, and had gotten used to being lazy because he felt like nothing would get better. The dirt and mess showed how his mind felt too: mixed up and falling apart.
As soon as he came in, he took off his shoes. They were very dirty from being worn for many days.
"Gross," he mumbled, tapping one of them with his foot. "I think these shoes are starting to grow things."
The living room looked just as bad as before: empty fast-food boxes were piled on the floor, soda cans were rolling under the couch, pizza boxes with hard, old cheese were lying around, and crumbs were everywhere. There wasn't one clean spot. Old food wrappers, papers, and used tissues were all over, making the place look like no one cared.
"Guess it's not gonna clean itself," he muttered, kicking a can toward the wall, then sighing. "But who cares, right?"
He hadn't tried to clean in weeks, but deep down, Dravix had already stopped trying. Cleaning didn't feel like a simple task anymore, it felt impossible. He didn't have the strength or the desire to do it.
When he went into his room, it didn't help him feel better. In fact, it made things worse. Clothes of all kinds: work clothes, regular clothes, underwear, and even socks that didn't match were all over the floor like leaves after a windy day. Some smelled like sweat, and others were so wrinkled and dirty they looked like trash. Dravix didn't really see it anymore.
"Where's that shirt… the one that doesn't stink too much," he mumbled, digging through the pile with his foot. "Eh, this one's only got a little mustard on it. Good enough."
It was normal now: walk over the mess, find something that looked clean enough, take off what he was wearing, and toss it onto the big pile. He did that, then sat hard on the edge of his bed, which now felt more like a place of worry than rest.
"God, this place is disgusting," he said to no one. "I can't even tell if I'm sitting on a pillow or a pair of jeans."
Dravix felt sad and upset as he looked at the poor place he lived in. He thought, "Life is really hard if you don't have a wife."
He whispered to himself, "Man… if I just had someone here. Someone to talk to. Someone who gave a damn. Maybe then I'd at least eat a vegetable once in a while."
He truly felt it. Deep inside, he wanted a steady life, someone to be with, and someone to help him with everything.
"Nobody," he said aloud. "Nobody when I get home. Nobody to say hi. Not even a stupid pet."
Nobody was there when he came home. Nobody helped him clean. There was no hot food, no smile, and no comfort. He didn't have enough money to pay someone to help, he could barely pay for rent and food. The idea of hiring someone was like thinking he could win the lottery, almost impossible.
"Hire a cleaner?" he scoffed. "Yeah, right. Right after I buy a yacht."
He was all alone in his dirty home, and it was starting to feel like it would never change.
Dravix wanted to stop thinking about his hard life, so he grabbed his old laptop. It was beat-up and very old. When he turned it on, the screen blinked, and the hinges made a loud squeaky noise.
"Come on, don't die on me now," he whispered, gently tapping the side of the screen. "Just give me twenty more minutes of life, old buddy."
He put it on his lap and slowly looked through the alerts. Most of them were junk or didn't matter, but one email stood out like a loud noise in a quiet room. His eyes got big as he read the legal papers attached. They said his mom owed $3,000,000 to a private company. The papers looked real, with stamps and seals. It wasn't fake.
"What the hell is this?" he said, squinting. "Three million?! This has to be a mistake... right?"
The huge problem hit him hard: it wasn't about money now, it was about his family's past, future, and the scary thought of losing it all.
"No, no, no," he whispered, scrolling quickly through the pages. "This can't be happening. What did she even do? Where would she owe this kind of money?"
In that moment of surprise, his hands stopped working. The laptop, which was already not sitting well on his lap, slid forward. Before he could do anything, it hit the floor with a loud, sharp sound.
"NO, wait—"
He stared, not moving, as the screen turned off and a new crack appeared on the already broken case. The laptop was broken for good. It had been his last way to get news, talk to people, and keep busy, and now it was gone in just a few seconds.
He shouted, not really because he was mad, but because he was really sad.
"No! My laptop! It's broken now!" His voice shook because he couldn't believe it.
"And what was that, my mom owed $3,000,000?" His words bounced around his small, dirty room like they were making fun of him.
"Of course. Of course this would happen now. Can't even have one working thing in this whole damn life!"
He was super tired, had no money, and his place was gross. Everything mixed together and made him lose it. He wasn't yelling at life, he was yelling at everything, like all the bad stuff in his life had hit him at once on one really bad night.
"I'm done," he said quietly, head in his hands. "I'm just... done."
Right before he passed out, one last harsh thought went through his head, simple and painful.
"I'm such an unlucky guy."
It wasn't him feeling sorry for himself anymore, it was like he was stating a fact. A final judgment on his life. All he had was bad luck, and now even that seemed to be falling apart.